New York City to Tulsa
by xSeshatx
Summary: {Oneshot} He had found a gang he could be in, people who now owed him a debt, and found a group of people who he could despise and know that anybody would have his back if he got in a problem with said people. He'd aim to get back to New York City as soon as he was able to get away, but in the meantime he could dig Tulsa.


He didn't know where he was and frankly he didn't care. His so-called father had told him a day earlier to pack his bags and then they had set out. Finally, after a day and a half, they had arrived at a city in Oklahoma called Tulsa, not like Dallas knew where the fuck that was. Staring at his new home he bit back a sigh because showing any type of emotion besides anger creates weakness and weakness doesn't get anybody anywhere in life. He took in the state of his neighborhood and he could already tell that it was very different than his previous home of New York City. Oh, how he missed New York City already.

The thing about New York City is that it's all about survival. That is, at least the way he grew up. He knew that his city had roughly about eight million people in it and that the majority of those people weren't fighting to stay alive the way he had while he lived there. Those people didn't have to worry about a rival gang finding them and killing them or worse. Those people were the lucky people who didn't understand the true meaning of the city. If he would have allowed himself to, he would envy those people. But he didn't envy anybody.

Some people would say that he was too young to be living the street life as he was, being only ten-going-on-eleven years old, but others would argue and say it's best to start when you can so you can get ahead of the game. What is the game? The game, in simple terms, is life. Everybody plays this game whether it's what they wanted or not, and nobody gives a shit if you didn't ask for it. The rule of this game is there are no rules; nothing stands in your way so long as you don't get caught. There is only one catch to this game that nobody ever wanted to talk about and that is the fact that nobody wins. It's impossible to win this game no matter how hard anybody tries. Everybody dies in the end.

He dropped his bag on the floor of his bedroom and clenched his fists so hard that the palms of his hands began to bleed. He hated when he started to think, especially about the game of life. Thinking about the game made him remember that it didn't matter how hard he tried because he would still lose, and thinking like that made him want to give up. But he wouldn't quit; Dallas Winston wasn't a quitter, and he sure as well wasn't ready to accept the inevitable and find another way to spend his life. If he was going to die he was going to die honorably. He had to chuckle at that thought - he didn't do anything honorably. At least not in normal people's eyes.

Wanting to get a taste of his new home, he slipped past his already drunken father and left as quickly as he could. His father would be sure to give him a wack or two if he had been able to get a hold of him. The man didn't need a reason to beat his kid and Dally had learned to get over that. It was just the life he had been given; he wasn't meant to like it. Once he was no longer able to see his house, he let his body relax slightly since he was in no immediate danger, but he kept an eye out on his surroundings. He was trained well. If you saw danger before danger got ahold of you then maybe you have a chance to fight or, if you have to, get away. His eyes went down every alleyway and through his peripheral vision he watched for shadows approaching him. He listened for any noise, big or little, that could mean a potential danger approaching. While this new place wasn't anything like the one-and-only New York City, he recognized a bad neighborhood when he saw one, and he had definitely filed his new city underneath that specific category.

The houses were probably the nicest things about this new place, but that wasn't saying very much. Most of the houses had windows smashed and replaced by wood and the doors were broken down. Some houses even had holes in the roof that were covered with a nailed down piece of cardboard. There were shingles laying around all over the very unkempt yards and he wondered if there were animals hiding in the overgrown grass. The streets were covered in potholes and trash but what caught his eyes were the skid marks and glass. Whoever drove down his street must have been out of their mind because the glass would only fuck up the car and who on earth would be going so fast to leave skid marks when the entire street was filled with potholes? He scoffed angrily; these people were already stupider than the people he knew in the big city.

It didn't take long for the looks to start. At first he had guessed that it was because of how he looked; his blond, naturally greased hair was growing faster than it should have and it was falling in bangs over his forehead, his face was covered in dirt, his clothes were falling apart, and he didn't look at all southern like the people he had passed on the streets. However, it was only after a few minutes that he realized his looks weren't the issue in the slightest - there were people gawking at him who looked like they were in worse shape than him. Some of the guys who were staring at him were tall and skinny-as if they didn't have food to eat, which he felt was very likely- but they were muscular as well. Compared to a lot of the people he knew in New York, these guys were absolutely ripped, and if he was being honest with himself it intimidated him a bit. The thought of getting fucked up by one of these guys didn't intimidate him, but the fact that he would have to prove himself did. It took two years to prove himself to his gang back home and he was arrested for it in the end.

He stopped walking when a boy around his age came loping up to him. His eyes were a very dark brown that mixed in well with his tanned face and long, curly black hair that was poorly greased down. His thumbs were hooked in his pockets and he was slouching in a way that told Dallas he was trying to look frightening which almost made him laugh; this kid didn't look scary. "You're new 'round here, ain't ya? Haven't seen ya before," this boy drawled out, his southern accent thick, and he suddenly became self-aware about his own voice. He knew he would sound differently than the people in Oklahoma. Hell, even people at different parts of New York City had different accents. Maybe his New York accent would make him seem weak. Anything, even something as stupid as an accent, could make a person an easy target.

"I'm new around here alright," he said, straightening out his spine and letting a smirk rest on his face. If he claimed dominance over this other boy then maybe he'd be able to get by without being a target. He could handle himself in a fight better than most people his age back in New York, but he didn't want to go through all that trouble if it could be avoided. He would show this kid who's boss. If the boy was smart he wouldn't try to fight Dallas. He learned within his first month of living in New York to always carry a weapon with you. He didn't go anywhere without his switchblade and he had never been afraid to use it. His switch had saved his life more than a couple of times and he wasn't about to get rid of it just because he found himself in Tulsa, Oklahoma. "The name's Dallas," he said without dropping his smirk. "You got a name?"

The kid looked him up and down as if he was sizing up an opponent, but instead of getting in a fighting stance he only nodded. "Shepard. Tim Shepard," he said with a smirk of his own. Dallas took note of the relaxed position this Shepard kid was in but he didn't lower his guard. This kid could just be trying to get him to slip up so he could pounce on him. He wouldn't give him the opportunity. "What about a last name, Dallas? You got one of those?"

"Winston," he answered shortly. He ran a hand through his own hair to calm the shaking that attacked his body. He wasn't scared by no means; his adrenaline was pumping. He saw somebody watching him and this Tim Shepard from an alleyway just down the street and his body was already getting ready for a fight. This person could be anyone, and judging by the look on his face he wasn't some friendly guy who was curious as to who the new guy in town was. He was older than he was -maybe fifteen or sixteen- and his brown hair was longer than his own and almost covered his eyes. He was easily a foot taller than him, give or take an inch or two, and he had well-defined muscles. This stranger looked ready for a fight, and Dallas wasn't about to disappoint.

Tim realized that Dallas was watching him as well as something behind him, and even though he didn't trust this new guy yet his curiosity got the best of him and he turned around to see what had intrigued him so much. He immediately saw the problem. "That's Rick," he said gruffly, tapping his back pocket to make sure his switch was there. "He's a Tiber Street Tiger. A rival gang."

"So," Dallas asked with a wide grin on his face, "you in a gang?" One thing he was looking forward to about this new life of his was to continue his old life. He didn't want to give up the gang life; he worked too hard to be a gang member to just shrug and move on. He was in a gang since he was almost eight years old. It was his life. He expected things such as fights and whatnot, but he wasn't sure if Oklahoma was big on gangs like New York City was. Where he was from it was always one set of greasers versus another set of greasers. He knew that this Tim and the man watching them were greasers but he wasn't sure how this gang rivalry worked in the slightest. He wondered if maybe he should learn what he could from Shepard so he knew just what he was getting into.

"Sure am," Tim said proudly. "I'm part of the River Kings. Rick knows me, and let's just say me an' him don't get along real well." Dallas could tell that Tim was a gang member now that he knew they had gangs here in Tulsa, but he could also tell that Tim was a rookie. He may knew the game but he was by no means a star player. He'd have to teach this kid how it was done. It could be fun.

"You got a good rep 'round here?" Dallas asked, flicking out his switch and watching Tim do the same. "I ain't 'bout to throw down if this is their turf, savvy?"

"We in River King turf. He ain't got no business lurkin' 'round 'ere," Shepard said. Both boys stood quietly and eyed their possible opponent while he did the same to them. After an intense stare down, he must have decided the fight wasn't worth it because he turned and retreated down the alleyway. Neither of the boys made a move to follow and after a moment they put their blades away. "Where you from, Winston?"

"New York City," he said with so much pride evident in his voice. That was his home as far as he was concerned. Tulsa could never be his home, but he could dig living there for a while. As soon as possible, though, he was heading right back to New York City. He lived there for three years and it's taught him everything he knew.

"Really?" Tim asked, shocked. Dallas smirked. Tim's reaction only proved his earlier thought that he was a rookie. Showing too much emotion gets you killed. Dallas seen it happen. "What's it like up there?"

"Depends on who you ask," Dallas answered, returning to studying Tim. If he wasn't as tough and as smart as he was, Dallas would have trusted Tim. It didn't seem as if he was planning something. If anything he thought Tim wanted him as an ally. However, since Dallas was tough and smart he wasn't trusting enough to begin trusting a total stranger. Noticing that Tim was waiting for him to continue, he spoke up again. "Ask any of the tourists and they'll tell you it's one of the greatest cities in the world. Ask somebody like me and I'll tell you we New Yorkers ain't the people you wanna mess with."

"You got Socs up there?"

"What the fuck are Socs?" Dallas asked boredly, but he was actually curious. He had never heard such a term. Maybe he knew what a Soc was but by a different name.

"Ya know - the rich, stuck up kids," Tim explained impatiently.

"Up in New York we call those people pussies. Where I come from we don't have to deal with them too much. Why?"

"Socs are a real problem for people like us," Shepard said. He started walking down the street and motioned Dallas to follow with a head nod. "Like to jump us greasers. Nobody safe from those pricks. Us greasers may have different gangs and fight each other, but when it comes down to it we all have each others back from those Socs. Still, it's dangerous to walk by your lonesome."

Dallas couldn't help but scoff. He was Dallas Winston for fucks sake. He wasn't afraid of no rich pussy ass kid trying to act like he's the shit. He's put people in the hospital for less than that and he wasn't about to change that now that he's in a new area. "You scared of some stuck up, spoiled brats, Shepard?"

"Fuck no," Tim snapped. "But I ain't stupid. Five on one ain't ever a fair fight no matter how good you think you are. You could play dirty but they play dirty right back."

Dallas couldn't actually argue that point. Getting jump, no matter who was jumping you, was never an easy fight. Sure, sometimes he's come on top during a jumping, but the majority of the time the winner is the side with more guys. He was also sometimes on the side with more people. Jumping people wasn't just a Soc thing. At least not in New York City. Right before Dallas was about to speak up, they heard a lot of noise coming from down the street behind him. Both boys whipped around as fast as they could, not knowing if they were about to fight someone or witness a fight. What they saw was a group of boys like them taking on a group of boys who looked a hell of a lot cleaner and proper. Dally knew those must have been the Socs and they were taking on a group of greasers. It was six on three; not exactly fair for the greasers.

Now Dallas was a tough boy who didn't give a fuck about anybody else, but he wasn't about to let his own kind get fucked up by who was apparently going to be his enemy. Wasting no time, he took off in the direction of the fight and wasn't too surprised to hear Tim follow after him. He was a faster runner than that Shepard boy which cause Dallas to smirk for a moment before he reached the fight. He wanted to one-up Tim Shepard in any possible way. The more people he could rise above the less problems he would encounter. Tim was already an established gang member; he was a good guy to one-up.

Each greaser was taking on two of the Socs, so when he reached the group he took out one of the guys fighting the smallest of the greasers. Instinct told him to pull out his blade but he wasn't going to make a clean fight dirty so instead he settled for his fists. He was younger and smaller than these guys but that meant little to him. In New York he was one of the younger gang members so he was used to being smaller than most. It only made him even tougher. He could hold his own in a fight against anybody, and sometimes his size was a weapon. He could move quicker than most of his opponents and that allowed him to get more hits where it mattered which ultimately helped him take them down quicker.

Since Dallas and Tim both joined the fight was much more even than it was before. The bigger guy of the greasers was handling two of the Socs while the other four of them all only had one and each one bested his opponent and within minutes the Socs took off running towards their Mustangs and they raced away. "Thanks, Tim," the biggest greaser said, nodding towards Shepard. "You too, kid. What's your name?"

"Dallas."

"I'm Darry," the greaser - Darry - introduced and held out his hand for Dallas to shake. Dallas accepted the handshake and nodded at the greaser. "This is Keith and Johnny."

"That's Two-Bit," Keith corrected, glaring half-heartedly at Darry before turning back to Dallas with a grin. "You new in town?"

"Sure am."

"Tuff," Two-Bit said, nodding in what seemed to Dallas of approval. "Those Socies there thought it'd be acceptable to jump lil ol' Johnny here, but we sure showed them, didn't we? We appreciate y'all's help."

"I was wonderin' why you was fightin', Curtis," Curly said, directly it at Darry. Curtis must have been his last name, Dally guessed. "You still too big and tough for the River Kings?"

"You know I'm not about that gang life," Darry said, rolling his eyes at Curly in what looked like annoyance. Dallas figured that Curly was trying to get Darry to join his gang often.

"And you, Two-Bit?"

"As much as I like ya, can't say I'm gang material."

Dallas took a moment to study these three new guys. Darry was the tallest and looked to be the oldest. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. He had dark brown hair and a tanned face. He was more muscular than any of the other guys he saw on the street but he had a softer face. Body of a gang member, sure, but Dallas could tell he stayed away from that life as much as possible. Two-Bit was shorter than Darry and had a lot less muscle but he was still a relatively big guy. His redish hair was definitely an eye-grabber, and he had a paler take to him. He looked to be twelve, maybe. Dally knew he couldn't be much younger than Two-Bit. Johnny, the smallest of the trio, did not look like he belonged in the hood at all. He had dark hair, darker skin, and looked like he could pass for eight or nine. Hell, for all Dallas knew he was that old. He looked scared and hoods were never scared.

"Will we be seein' you around town?" Two-Bit asked, cocking an eyebrow at Dallas. "We owe you one for the help."

"Bet your ass you do," Dallas answered with a smirk. He wasn't expecting to come across people like that on his first day in town but the more people he knew the better. Darry seemed to be a respectable guy, Two-Bit had a character about him that Dallas assumed made people like him, and Tim was in a gang and could probably get Dallas into it if that's what he wanted. He couldn't say too much about Johnny except he had a nice variety of people he now knew. His first day in town could have been worse, and to make the day even better he got in a fight and won. He knew that his life would be much different than it was in New York City, but at the same time nothing really would change. It was different.

He had found a gang he could be in, people who now owed him a debt, and found a group of people who he could despise and know that anybody would have his back if he got in a problem with said people. He'd aim to get back to New York City as soon as he was able to get away, but in the meantime he could dig Tulsa. Things were still normal for him even if they were different. He had gang fights, his father's abuse, and his own I-hate-the-world attitude. The small, specific things may have changed but the bigger picture for him was the same. Yeah, his new home could have **definitely** been worse.


End file.
